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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25583917">wheel of the year</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketpauling/pseuds/pocketpauling'>pocketpauling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>HLVRAI - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coven AU, M/M, aka witchcraft REAL, cws will always be in end notes, freelatta is the focus here, make these boys witches NOW right now</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:09:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25583917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketpauling/pseuds/pocketpauling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On a stretch of road, in an uncharacteristically dense bit of woods between Danvers and Wenham, Massachusetts, there is a home. Beautiful and quiet, a mansion older than America, nearly pristine.</p><p>Ask around, and you might learn that someone lives there. Ask more, and you’ll be told to mind your own business. Go home, don’t bother with it. It’s not worth it. You should listen. </p><p>You should have listened, Gordon. You really should have listened.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dr. Coomer/Bubby (HLVRAI), Gordon/Tommy (HLVRAI)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>wheel of the year</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <i>please picture me in the trees<br/>i hit my peak at seven<br/>feet in the swing over the creek<br/>i was too scared to jump in</i>
</p><p>  <sub>see end notes for cws</sub></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On a stretch of road, in an uncharacteristically dense bit of woods between Danvers and Wenham, Massachusetts, there is a home. Beautiful and quiet, a mansion older than America, nearly pristine. Well taken care of. Draws you into it, makes you stare.</p><p>No one visits. </p><p>It stands alone, obscured from prying eyes by its sea of trees, its acres of land that no one touches, no one ventures into. Not for lack of trying, but in those woods, you can walk for miles. Miles, miles, where all you'll find are the same dark woods. Miles of nothing. Of blurry shadows of deer on the horizon. Of perfect silence, no birds. Nothing but trees and distant eyes. </p><p>Ask around, and you might learn that someone lives there. Ask more, and you’ll be told to mind your own business. Go home, don’t bother with it. It’s not worth it. You should listen. </p><p>You should have listened, Gordon. You really should have listened.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>June came and went, and Gordon Freeman lost his job right at the end of it all, despite how perfect of an employee he was. Model, really. No write-ups, no problems. Wonderful man, wonderful employee, wonderfully loyal to Black Mesa’s Boston offices. </p><p>The recession hit Black Mesa’s satellite offices hard, layoff after layoff being handed down from the top of the food chain, people who made more money than Gordon would ever see. They told him they were sorry. They were sorry, Gordon, so sorry - there’s nothing anyone can do. They’re stretched as thin as they could be already. They’ll miss him. </p><p>When the day came, he packed up his boxes without thinking. Things happen so often to people, things that change their lives, things where you just check out mentally. It’s easier that way. Autopiloted by something in his brain, something telling him exactly how to put his favorite picture of Joshua into his box and blink back angry tears. </p><p>He didn’t tell them that it’s not fair. He shook their hands, and they wished him luck. He wished it back to them. He didn’t look back when he walked out to his car. </p><p>When, on the car ride home, he realized he won’t make enough to afford the house he’s renting anymore, his eyes flicked to the divider on the highway. Calculated, alarmingly fast, how to optimally wrap his car around the trees he passed. </p><p>He couldn’t. Joshua needs him. He couldn’t.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Two weeks of searching led him, desperately hoping for the best, to an uncharacteristically dense bit of woods between Danvers and Wenham, Massachusetts. To a home, one so old that it creaked audibly from the photos he’d seen of it. Beautiful, unquestionably so, but beauty isn’t known for being synonymous with safety. Joshua had gotten his tetanus shot, but Gordon had not.</p><p>They asked for very little in exchange for a room, but their offer had been up for months without a response. Every part of Gordon knew that something too good to be true was <em>always</em> too good to be true, but he had so many bills he had to pay - the rest of his student loans, to start. If he could put more of whatever modest paycheck he could pull here towards those, he would be happy. Enough. Happy enough. He could try. This was a halfway house. He would find a new job and move on, in a few months time. This was just a vacation.</p><p>Whoever he had spoken to online, a man named Tommy, so - Tommy, yes. A man named Tommy had assured him that he wouldn’t have to pay more because of his son, and he agreed to… <em>see</em> the place, at least.</p><p>Now that he was here, he half-regretted it.</p><p>The house was so much larger than he thought it’d be. A colonial home, practically prehistoric. Well. They hadn’t lied about how it looked, at least. This was true. This, at least, was a truth. The rest of it was still up for debate. </p><p>A flicker of movement in the attic window had him hesitating to step out of his car, though. It… it’s a cliché. It’s cliché, and he knows it, but it was surely a cat, or, or - even just his imagination. Or just a cat, that’s probably what it was. A cat. </p><p>He regretted bringing Joshua. </p><p>Joshua did not seem like he was afraid of anything, sitting in the back seat and marvelling at the home from his window, still buckled in like a good kid. Good kid. If anything happened here, he wondered if Joshua knew how to unlock his own door, knew to run for help. Just in case. </p><p>He didn’t expect murder, not exactly. He just didn’t expect the best, not here, not <em>ever</em>. Murder was on the list of possible things that could happen today. It was a long list. Mostly terrible things.</p><p>He’s still in the driver’s seat of the car, door hanging open. Like his brain gave up in the middle of it all, which, it <em>did</em>. It did. He shook away any anxiety over a cat, or whatever, and hopped out of the front seat and onto the cobblestone. </p><p>The cobblestone driveway was <em>definitely</em> original. Or old, at least. Maybe it came later, but it gave off the air of old-as-hell. </p><p>A loud click from the front door. It didn’t open, just… sat there. It just sat there, still closed, still twenty feet away. He shoved the car door closed, and prayed to <em>something</em> that whoever’s in this house is friendly.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy is all nerves, today. All nerves, all of them. Every nerve, he thinks. Benry’s in the kitchen, Benry’s making bread. “Welcome!” bread, he said. Benry said it was welcome bread, so Tommy’ll believe this. Sure.</p><p>This is the real deal, this time. This is the real deal. They’d tried everything to get someone to move in, and now it finally worked. Finally, something’s tugging on the line. Finally caught one.</p><p>When Gordon messaged about the listing, Tommy wasn’t surprised. Not really. He didn’t know how it’d happen, exactly, but his father had texted him a single little smiley face ten minutes prior, so Tommy took that as confirmation. This was him. This was the fish. The, uh - like a salmon caught by a bear, maybe. Like a crab in a crab pot. </p><p>Benry had promised seafood for dinner. Tommy had fish on the brain.</p><p>The metaphor - simile? - still stood. Gordon was caught in their very clever trap, and they’d have fresh meat soon. Soon, soon, soon. He’d be here soon, and they’d invite him and his kid, his kid! They’d invite them in, and then - </p><p>The doorbell startles Tommy out of his recital, and the door creaks open on its own. Tommy rolls his eyes.</p><p>Gordon’s voice, Tommy assumes, drifts from behind the door, “Hello? This - I didn’t open your door, sorry. Sorry!”</p><p>Tommy’s on his feet, off the couch instantly, and rushing to the door to greet him. Sure enough, when he pulls the door all the way open, presumed-to-be-Gordon is on their porch, wringing his hands. Looking like he’s 90% anxiety. Probably thinks he’s done something wrong already.</p><p>He tries, tries his hardest to smile in a way that’s reassuring. It’s not insincere, but it <em>is</em> hard to gauge what the correct amount of smiling is. “Oh! Don’t worry, I probably, uh - I guess I forgot to close it all the way. Nice to meet you! I’m Tommy.”</p><p>“You’re - yeah, hi, I’m Gordon. Nice to meet you.”</p><p>Gordon is shorter than he expected. He <em>thinks </em>he expected Gordon to be around his own height, but he’s… a good half a foot shorter, actually. He’s going to be shorter than everyone but Benry, then. Okay. Tommy… can maybe work with this. Maybe.</p><p>No kid to be seen, until movement from Gordon’s car catches his attention. Kid located. Alright! Love it when a plan comes together. </p><p>Gordon doesn’t catch him looking at his car, too busy studying the stained glass of the doorway, hand on the siding. Tommy’s seen the stained glass plenty - he grew up here, after all - but it’s always nice to see people admire your home.</p><p>“Do you want to come in, or - the porch? We can stay out here, if you’d like.”</p><p>“Out here, just for right now. Wanted to make sure you’re… cool. Like, normal?” Gordon pulls his hand back from the wall, and goes right back to fidgeting in place. “I forgot to ask earlier, but you said more people lived here? Like… how does that work, exactly?”</p><p>Tommy has to think for a minute. </p><p>How do you tell a stranger about your coven? How do you have that conversation? Regardless of how much he knew that Gordon was going to stay here regardless, he really should make this as easy as possible. He needs this to be easy.</p><p>He doesn’t know exactly what he’s going to say when he starts talking, hoping he’ll make it there eventually. “It’s more of a - almost like a family situation, rather than any kind of landlord-renter thing - uh, it’s… we all share the public spaces in the house, we all get our own rooms, we all take care of the place.”</p><p>Gordon accepts it easily, nodding along like it makes sense. Which it might, Tommy thinks. Maybe people do this in other places, without the coven thing. Without the rituals and all.</p><p>“Sounds nice, actually? I - “ </p><p>Something collides with Gordon’s legs, nearly pushing him forward into Tommy. Nearly, but Gordon catches himself and then turns to catch the kid behind him. His focus is so fully on that kid - what was their name? - that Tommy takes it as an opportunity to glance in to check on Benry.</p><p>Bread on cooling racks, bread on pans, bread sliced on plates. Making his way to the front door, to where Tommy’s peeking his head in. No burning down the house today. Bubby would never forgive them.</p><p>And it’s Joshua. The kid's name is Joshua, from what Tommy can tell. It's not hard to guess, since that's the name Gordon's using for him as he tries and fails to scold him for leaving the car. The kid is smiling, though, and obviously excited - and why shouldn’t he be? Seeing new places is always exciting.</p><p>Tommy’s excited to see the kid, too. Young blood, and all that. Important.</p><p>He’s moving his hands, and Tommy knows it’s sign language, but he’s never had the opportunity to learn it. Always wanted to, wished they taught it in schools, but life is full of those little missed opportunities no matter what you do. Can’t win ‘em all, so he stopped trying to sometime ago.</p><p>Gordon laughs, free of anxiety, real. </p><p>It’s - this is a cliché, but it’s like how they say laughs are meant to sound, ideally. The pealing of little bells, or something. Tommy doesn’t like those old cliché metaphors. Prefers making his own, and if he was going to come up with his own comparison, well… it’s probably more like the little chime that signals your first customer of the day, or something. Those little bells tied above doors, the ones he’s always loved, like the one at the butcher’s in town.</p><p>Tommy smiles, free of anxiety, real.</p><p>Joshua pulls at his dad’s sleeve, and Gordon hoists him right up into his arms. Tiny kid, couldn’t be older than 7 or so. Bright smile, missing his front bottom teeth. He waves shyly to Tommy, and Tommy waves back.</p><p>And, as Tommy opens his mouth to invite them in again, Benry pulls the door open with a loud “WHAT’S UP, GAMERS?” and Gordon nearly drops Joshua in shock.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Gordon agrees, the second time. What else is he meant to do? The calendar is flipping over to August that night, and that means it’s still Summer. And Summer is hot, and Gordon doesn’t want to stand out in the humidity. He feels… comfortable enough. With Tommy. And this new guy, who Tommy had introduced to him. Benry. </p><p>Their home is eclectic. That’s the word for it, he thinks, as he glances around from his spot on the armchair he’s settled into. The walls are covered in old clocks, plates, pictures and portraits of people long-dead or nearly there. It’s obvious it’s been passed down for quite a few generations, and - hadn’t Tommy mentioned that it was his? His family must have lived here for a while. It’s a question for later.</p><p>There’s so much bread, the smell of it permeating the house the way cigarette smoke permeated his old rental. He preferred this, by a wide margin. If this was how the house always was, he would move in today.</p><p>When Benry brought them these little… bread-men? Like gingerbread people, but bread. When he brought them over, set them on the table, and sat down on the couch with Tommy, Gordon finally asked the question that’s been bothering him this entire time.</p><p>“So - this seems like it’s… perfect? It’s a beautiful house, and you seem really nice, so far.”</p><p>Tommy’s smiling at that, wide and genuine. Benry looks indifferent, or he’s zoned out, because his eyes are on the bread-men. Bread-people. Like he’s afraid to touch them.</p><p>Gordon isn’t, and he picks one up, ignoring how Benry follows the movement of his hands. Ignores the way he’s staring at its place in his hands, in his lap, as he tries to form his question. </p><p>“It’s just that… this listing has been up for months. What’s - why hasn’t anyone taken you guys up on this, yet?” </p><p>He bookends his question by biting off the little bread-person’s head, and Benry finally averts his eyes. It’s… okay. It’s bread.</p><p>“Well,” Tommy’s eyes are on the ceiling, like he’s searching for the answer up there. “We’re not… people who come here, people who answer the ad, they - we’re not, uh - “</p><p>Benry cuts him off. “We’re not a good, Christian household.”</p><p>Tommy sighs, closes his eyes, and nods his head. </p><p>Gordon doesn’t really get it. So he asks. “What do you <em>mean</em> by that, exactly?”</p><p>“People don’t like being in a house full of fuckin’ heathens, or whatever. Usually turns people right around.” Benry slumps back on the couch. “Not cool, not cool to judge us like that.”</p><p>Tommy looks just as tired as Benry does, eyes trying to pick between the ceiling, or the wall, or the floor. “It’s not fair, we - we’re not bad people, we don’t even <em>believe</em> in the Devil, we’re just… trying to live.”</p><p>This… does this change anything? Gordon’s never been a very spiritual person, for all his family tried. He’s never had a problem with this kind of thing, but he’s… something is off-putting, but he knows it’s just fear of the unknown. “Uh-huh? Uh. You’re not expecting me to… participate in all this, are you?”</p><p>“No! No,” Tommy shakes his head, like he’s shocked Gordon would ask. “No, no, no. We don’t expect - you can have your own beliefs! Just understand that… we do, too.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay, cool. When can I move in?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>August 1st, it turns out. The next day, which is fine by Gordon - he’s nearly all packed up already. Has been for a week now. It’s an hour’s drive, and he has very little to carry with him. Most of it is Joshua’s clothes and toys.</p><p>He wouldn’t admit to anyone how desperate he was to get out of that house, out of the city. But, if anyone were to look close enough, they’d be able to see it on him. And he’s so thankful, so relieved this worked out, so he had somewhere to go.</p><p>Lifesavers, even if they were ‘witches,’ or whatever.</p><p>Tommy had texted him nonstop after that meeting, had listed every person who actively lived there: him, Benry, Harold Coomer, and Coomer’s husband, who’s just called… Bubby.</p><p>Gordon knew better than to ask, because - names are personal, okay? He knows. He picked his own. Maybe this Bubby guy picked his own, too. It’s rude to talk shit about something that means a lot to someone else.</p><p>Tommy doesn’t explain much about them, just that Mr. Coomer and Bubby were an older couple, and his room would be next to theirs. Across the hall from Benry’s, upstairs, in the newer wing of the home.</p><p>When Gordon asked where Tommy’s room was, he teased Gordon for being forward, but admitted that he was on the ground floor, in the original master bedroom of the house. From back in the day, Gordon assumes. Like, <em>all</em> the way back. 1600’s, all the way back.</p><p>Besides the teasing, which Gordon ignored, there hadn’t been much genuine conversation besides a steady stream of basic information. He felt so underprepared, but that’s life, he mused. When he pushed the car door open again in the driveway of that house, he figured that’s just the way the universe meant it. </p><p>When Tommy comes out to meet them, taking a stack of boxes, handing them off to an uninterested and bored-looking Benry, Gordon considers how truly insane this all is, to just… move in with people he doesn’t know. But he’s not in the financial situation to look a gift horse in the mouth. Debts need paid, and all that work for a government contractor only took so much off his back. </p><p>Too late to back out now. Contracts, or something. Did he even sign anything? Were they going to make him sign in blood?</p><p>Is that mean? Probably. Maybe keep that one to yourself, Gordon.</p><p>The room, the one he should have asked about - there were pictures of it from the listing, yeah, but he really should have asked to see it. The room... was just a <em>little</em> small. Cozy, though. Warm colors, the walls covered in maroon and gold wallpaper. Stuff that usually would be tacky, but it’s probably expensive and <em>historic</em>, so he can’t really complain about it. And it was pretty, in its own way. Fits the room. The whole house, actually.</p><p>Queen bed, old metal frame, new mattress. Surprisingly large closet. Definitely old dressers, and one of those writing desks that flips open - what were they called?</p><p>“Secretary desk,” Tommy offers, when Gordon looks at it for too long. Like Tommy could read his mind, but he knows it’s because he could tell Gordon was lost looking for the word. There’s still a part of him that wonders if it was more than guessing, though.</p><p>He thanks them for their help, telling them he can take it from there. He tells Gordon that there’ll be dinner, later, if he wants, and he accepts. But, for now, he has to hide a <em>lot</em> of crystals.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Gordon leads Josh down the steps at around 6, after Tommy hollered up the steps to tell him it was dinnertime, he’s almost afraid of what kind of people he’ll find at the table.</p><p>Joshua nearly stumbles down the stairs, he’s so busy with the little corn doll Tommy gave him earlier, and he finds that more of them are placed on the dining room table. The same dining room table that was surrounded by the 4 men who lived there, Tommy at the head of the table, Benry carrying a basket of even more bread to set in the middle, and the two he hadn’t met - one tall and lanky, the other shorter and less thin. Both seemed about the same age, somewhere between 50 and 70. </p><p>Gordon never thought of witchcraft as an old person thing, but he supposes that it’s an age-old practice. Older than Christianity, for sure. So maybe that’s just… new age assumptions? Whatever. He doesn’t really care <em>that</em> much.</p><p>As he finds his way to the bottom of the stairs, the taller of the older men turns towards him so fast, he’s afraid the guy broke his neck.</p><p>He didn’t, because he starts complaining instantly. </p><p>“I thought you yelling for him was a joke. Why did you <em>invite </em>him?”</p><p>Tommy waves at Joshua, who’s trying to decide whether he wants to run to the table or hide behind his father’s legs. “It’s dinner, Bubby. They have to eat.”</p><p>So, that was Bubby. The other one must be Coomer.</p><p>Coomer places a hand on his husband’s shoulder, gives him a stern look, and Bubby crosses his arms and seems to accept it. For now, maybe. Gordon isn’t sure how to react to it all, so he elects to pretend like he didn’t hear - sits down at one of the two chairs they’d obviously pulled up for him and Joshua. </p><p>Joshua’s already in his own chair, showing an only slightly-less-disinterested-than-usual Benry his little corn doll, who he’s affectionately named ‘Cowboys 17.’ And Gordon envies him. Envies his own son, his ability to not read the room right now, because the room is so decidedly awkward, it’s making Gordon wish he could melt into a puddle on the floor. </p><p>He doesn’t know exactly what it is, but when he takes a deep breath, focuses more on the weight of the necklace under his chest, his head clears, a bit. Enough to smile a little at Mr. Coomer, across the table, and introduce himself.</p><p>“Hi, I’m - I just moved in, I’m Gordon. You must be Mr. Coomer...?”</p><p>Mr. Coomer looked surprised that Gordon was the one who broke the silence, and echoed his smile back at him, twofold. “Hello, Gordon! You can call me Harold. No need for that ‘Mr.’ nonsense.”</p><p>“Oh? Okay, and - Bubby?” Gordon looks away from Coomer - <em>Harold</em> - and towards Bubby. The man nods, curtly, and Gordon wills his smile to not break. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”</p><p>Gordon fills Joshua and his own plate with food, thanking God, or <em>something</em>, that he wasn’t expected to cook, if he’s going to be staying here. Benry seems to have that on lock. It was a weight off of his shoulders, because tasting it, he knows he couldn’t compare. It’s relatively healthy, too? Who the hell did this guy think he was? Making vegetables good enough that Joshua will eat some of them?</p><p>The silence eventually broke, and Gordon got to listen to the friendly conversation, the <em>familial</em> conversation between them all. It was a little strange - even at Gordon’s family dinners growing up, there wasn’t this level of comfort between everyone.</p><p>Everyone but him.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Tommy and Gordon were left behind to clean up at the table, Tommy explained that it was a holiday, an important one, to them. </p><p>He’s in the middle of walking to the kitchen sink, balancing a stack of empty plates in one hand, “It’s - we celebrate the… uh, Lughnasadh. Or Lammas, if you prefer. I don’t care for it.”</p><p>Gordon wasn’t familiar, and Tommy could tell. From the look on his face, he could tell. Christian raised, no doubt. Still, he should have learned about Lammas? Tommy knows some Christians do that one, at least.</p><p>“It’s a harvest festival?”</p><p>No recognition. Well, that’s… did Gordon never read fiction about witches? Did he know… <em>anything</em>? This was going to be harder than they thought, if he’s as clueless as he seems to be.</p><p>He takes the remaining plates from Gordon’s hands, plunks them down in the big farm sink, and continues his explanation, “It’s a celebration of the first harvest, or something. Like I said, I - uh, I never… <em>liked </em>these types of holidays. But the others want to celebrate them, so I don’t stop them. It’s a good excuse to eat bread!”</p><p>It’s not a good explanation, but it’s mostly because Tommy’s telling the truth - he doesn’t celebrate some of the holidays as much as the others. He hits the big four holidays, and mostly ignores the rest of them. </p><p>“So...” Gordon starts, fiddling with his necklace again. Tommy noticed, saw it at dinner, when Gordon pulled it out to mess with it anxiously. Pretty amethyst. Matched Gordon’s eyes, almost. “I didn’t mess anything up, did I? Like… if you guys were doing any of your ‘magicks’ or whatever?”</p><p>Tommy echoes the only word he caught, while his brain tried to decipher the rest of the sentence. “‘Magicks?’” </p><p>Gordon’s half-smile becomes a quarter-smile. Waning crescent. “Oh, is that not cool to say? I don’t know anything about this.”</p><p>Tommy’s caught up, now, and he reaches out to pat Gordon on the shoulder, bring that calm smile back. At least get him to stop being so scared he fucked up. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Don’t worry about it. There wasn’t any kind of ritual or anything, and - do you want to?” </p><p>Gordon tilts his head to the side, like a puppy. </p><p>“Know about all this, I mean.”</p><p>He nods, and visibly thinks through it. “Oh. Uh, maybe? Like, academically speaking. I didn’t get a lot of exposure to different ways of living, growing up.”</p><p>Tommy pulls his hand back from where it was, still on Gordon’s shoulder. He… forgot it was there, honestly. Laughs nervously, turns towards the sink so he can start cleaning. “You… uh, you can ask any questions you want. I don’t know everything, but I was raised with a lot of this. So I know enough.”</p><p>“What’s with the bread-people? And the corn dolls?”</p><p>“That’s, uh - they’re meant to be stand-ins for whatever god you believe in, or something. Never paid attention to the Celtic practices, but - “</p><p>“Celtic practices,” Gordon echoes. Tommy continues.</p><p>“ - they’re little... sacrifices. For a good harvest! Important, especially to Mr. Coomer.”</p><p>“Like, human sacrifices?”</p><p>“No, like god sacrifices. Like a god sacrificing itself. For… for the harvest?”</p><p>“Oh. Cool.”</p><p>Tommy wishes he could tell Gordon about how much more effective <em>blood </em>is for the same purpose. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>paragraph that starts with "When, on the car ride home," has suicidal thoughts, kinda. thats abt it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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